


Genghis Khan

by astrosaur



Category: Johnny's Entertainment, Sexy Zone
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 11:32:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11161002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrosaur/pseuds/astrosaur
Summary: Whereas Shige fancies himself as more of a matchmaker, Fuma's preferred role in Kento's search for relationship prospects aligns more with his own agenda.





	Genghis Khan

**Author's Note:**

> Part of a self-challenge to write 5 fics inspired by 5 songs in different genres. Genre 4 is Dance/Pop, song is from Miike Snow.

       For most people, coming to an end of a three-week pseudo-relationship would not entail devoting an entire weekend to consuming as much ice cream as your freezer can hold. But Fuma has a near-bottomless reservoir of knowledge when it comes to Kento, and the one nugget of information that proves useful time and again is that his friend is not “most people.”

       Since Kento is impervious to insults about how much of a cliché can be, no amount of ridicule can stop him from mechanically digging into his chocolate and peanut butter ice cream to heal his wounded heart. Between the numbing helpings of his frozen treats, he and Fuma chat mindlessly about a stupid drama he’s hooked on. There’s a short lull when Kento takes a moment to check his phone, and for the first time in a while, he cracks a genuine smile.

       It’s a muted version of the ones Fuma enjoys wrangling out of him, but it’s a relief to see, nonetheless. Fuma is only mildly annoyed that it’s some random message or status update or whatever that managed to coax that smile out of him, when he’s been enduring the heaviness of Kento’s mood for the better part of the afternoon. He sneaks up behind Kento to take a surreptitious look at his phone and ascertain the culprit.

       Over Kento’s shoulder, Fuma spies a message from Shigeoka. _You can’t hold it against everyone who’s only two years younger than you, all because your bandmate looks eternally twelve!_

       It automatically makes Fuma groan, knowing exactly what Shige is bothering Kento about. “He’s still on that? Tell him to give it up already.”

       Kento isn’t even bothered by Fuma’s snooping. “This guy. He thinks that because their 7-member debut was powered by sheer will, then I must be able to ‘turn’ someone with enough effort on my end.”

       “He thinks the biggest obstacle there is the two-year age gap, and not the fact that the other guy’s straight?”

       “Pretty much. He’s convinced Nozomu is in denial.” The problem with Shige has never been his good intentions – the issue is his complete disregard of earthly probability.

       “That guy you were seeing was two years older than you," Fuma comments, overly casual.

       Kento immediately senses that he isn’t going to like where Fuma’s going with this. “Yeah.”

       “It’s strange that you conveniently overlooked that, when you’re normally against it.” Fuma sits back down on the chair by Kento’s desk, putting his feet up on the edge of the other man’s bed. “Just admit that you compromised on your standards when you went out with him.”

       “I never said I was against dating someone two years _older_ than me.”

       Fuma doesn’t bother to acknowledge this technicality. “On top of barely having dated that guy, someone who doesn’t even meet bare minimum standards is hardly worth the trouble of moping over.”

       “I’m not moping,” Kento informs him, before shoveling another heaping scoop of chocolate into his mouth and digging out a pretzel from the humongous open bag laying by his feet.

       “OK, you know what, I’m not leaving until you promise that you’ll come out with us tonight. Give your body a break from the constant intake of dairy and sugar, and maybe our fans won’t jump ship to Hey Say or Kisumai.”

       Kento frowns when Fuma successfully takes the bag of pretzels from him, authoritatively clipping the bag closed. “Those go really well with the ice cream.”

       Fuma wrestles the pint of ice cream out of Kento’s clinging fingers, too. “For you to get away with the weight gain you’re rushing towards, you’d have to be at least as funny as Kiriyama.”

       Kento mournfully watches his treats being taken away. “It’s barely solid food. How fattening can it be?”

       “I know you’re kidding, but that line of thinking is disturbing.” Fuma goes through the trouble of resealing the ice cream and placing it back in the freezer, going as far as hiding them behind the groceries Kento keeps for non-break up situations. “Fortunately for our group’s future, you’ll literally sweat this all out just by walking down the street.”

       “You know, I love how you think that making fun of me will convince me that I want to spend more time with you.”

       “You should really talk to someone about that. That can’t be healthy behavior on your part.”

 

 

*

 

 

       Under normal circumstances, dragging Kento out to a club is pretty much unheard of, even one that’s certified flawless by Juri’s brother, in that it’s both paparazzi-proof and too underground for its patrons to be well-versed in the mainstream culture that he and his colleagues are prevalent in.

       Kento accepts invitations even more intermittently than Fuma extends them, but he’s uniquely vulnerable when his heart has been freshly broken. Thus, Fuma’s sharp tongue does not deter Kento from subjecting himself to a night of debauchery with people he already sees on a regular basis, including one he meets almost daily.

       At the club, he mostly barricades himself in the corner of a booth, chin in one hand and a drink in the other. Kouchi and Jesse wander into his orbit and keep him company. They’re rewarded with a rather loose-lipped Kento, who goes on to divulge the reason why he’s newly single again. He opens up about Ryo, the short-lived flame that he met through Shige. He mentions that Ryo also happens to know Fuma, although whether they are or ever were friends is debatable, as far as Fuma’s concerned. They’re acquaintances at the very least, having worked on the same drama a few years back.

       Kento explains to them that he had wanted to be upfront with Ryo, so he admitted that he and Fuma used to hook up, and assured him it had been a casual arrangement born out of convenience. Not long after that came a remorseful call from Ryo, who proposed that they stop seeing each other. Kento tried to belabor the fact that he and Fuma put a stop to their escapades the minute he started dating someone, but nothing persuaded Ryo to change his mind.

       Needless to say, Kouchi and Jesse listen in rapt attention to every word. Kento’s woe-begotten tales are such an epic revelation that they call Yasui and Juri over, so they too can get the full details while they’re being volunteered so freely. Luckily, Fuma’s too engrossed chatting up a cute girl with shampoo commercial hair to notice what’s happening.

       Most of them already had an inkling about what Kento and Fuma got up to when they were left to their own devices. They could piece together how the two always claimed adjacent hotel rooms, or how they’d disappear at the same time during intermission. They were practically an open secret. Fuma never made any strong effort to deny it, but he also never confirmed it – certainly not in the clear terms Kento is using in this moment, under the compelling influence of alcohol.

       Kento gets stuck on the break-up part of his story eventually, and Yasui et. al. take it as their cue to migrate to the dancefloor, where they compete to see who can be the lamest dance ambassador for their agency.

       Their collective flailing inevitably brings attention to them. For the most part, it’s directed at Jesse and his distinctive foreign features, but Kento unsurprisingly garners a fair share of intrigue from appreciative strangers.

       While Fuma missed Kento comprehensively outing their secrets, he’s almost innately attuned to the way other people’s eyes swivel onto Kento with unseemly purpose. Fuma snaps to attention the moment he catches heads turning towards the spectacle of pretty boys dancing with deliberate incompetence.

       Fuma’s hyper-awareness of Kento’s effect on other people is partially due to the protectiveness that flares up in him from time to time – an instinct honed by birth order and much younger siblings. It’s an instinct that extends to his friends. And the fact of the matter is, Kento is easy. (When he’s more tactful, Fuma might use the word susceptible.) For as effortlessly as Kento can dazzle with his sugary words, he himself is starved for meaningful affection. He gets lured into thinking that desire for him is a gateway to what he wants, and sometimes Fuma has to step in before that hope leads him down a hazardous path.

       The other part driving Fuma’s behavior is more shameful, and it has a lot to do with the reason Ryo and Kento split up. He knows it’s irrational and bordering on primitive, but after he and Kento started fooling around, Fuma started to feel a lot more territorial of him. He increasingly acted on those feelings too, though his efforts go unnoticed to the untrained eye. Kento’s one of the oblivious ones, not noticing when Fuma shoos would-be suitors away by glowering at them or “accidentally” stepping on their feet.

       There’s one gaggle of girls that marches right up to Fuma, undaunted by his cagey expression. “Is that your friend over there?” one girl asks. She’s wearing large overalls and a paint-streaked cropped shirt underneath, and Fuma would be instantly smitten if she weren’t intending to put the moves on his work partner.

       Fuma shoots out a quick prayer to the universe that she and her group really don’t know or recognize Kento. “Yeah, listen, I’d introduce you, but I promised his fiancée I’d keep him out of trouble.”

       Overalls Lady sighs out her disappointment, but another girl in an electric green mini-skirt isn’t deterred. “You don’t have to worry about that! We’re not trouble, we’re just looking for some new friends.” She moves next to Fuma and runs perfectly polished fingernails up and down his arm. “I was kind of hoping you were here to make friends, too.”

       “I wish I were, but like I said, I’m only here to rein in the ones I already have.” Fuma jerks a nod in Kento’s direction with a longsuffering sigh. “Keeping that one in line is a chore all by itself, and his wedding’s in less than a week. If you’ll excuse me, duty calls.”

       He sidesteps them just in time to intercept a waiter seemingly on his way to Kento with an orange drink in hand – a drink Kento couldn’t have ordered, having been in the middle of the dancefloor the entire time. Fuma grabs it from the waiter, puts the lip of the glass up to his nose and sniffs loudly. “This is for the guy in white, right? He’s allergic to this. You’ll have to take this back.”

       The waiter glances over Fuma’s shoulder in confusion to where Kento is dancing with Hokuto, clueless about the free drink he’s in the process of losing. He’s swiveling his hips without a care in the world, movement so pronounced that it looks preposterous – and somehow erotic, all the same.

       Fuma waves his hand in front of the waiter’s face, blocking his view. “Did you hear me? It’s loud in here, huh?”

       “Sorry, yes, I heard you. This is the same drink he just had. That man over there told me bring him another one.” He nods to a skeezy-looking (in Fuma’s opinion) leather-clad blond at the far-end of the counter, staring at them curiously and probably wondering why the drink he bought for Kento isn’t making its way to its targeted destination.

       “Look, man, I’m doing my best. I’ll level with you. My friend isn’t allergic, he’s actually an alcoholic. I can only do so much to stage an intervention in a place like this.” Fuma turns the waiter around by his shoulders before he can argue the merits of his alleged plan, lightly shoving him forward to send him on his way. “It sucks that he’s as much of an inconvenience to you as he is to me, but thanks for your hard work, really.”

       Fuma catches the eye of the culprit behind the drink, and shrugs feebly for the creep’s benefit.

       Following that, he busies himself tracking down yet another one weaving his way through the crowd to get to Kento. Fuma dashes to block his path, and the man groans exasperatedly. “What’s your deal? You’ve been hovering around him all night. Don’t tell me you’re the boyfriend.”

       “You were watching me all night?” Fuma asks in a voice that would lead others to believe he just inhaled either helium or cocaine. “You should have just asked me to dance, silly!” He proceeds to dance (for lack of a better word) around the meddlesome, judgmental stranger, moving like an unhinged orangutan. He bends his knees at an extreme angle and thrusts outstretched arms into the air, thrashing frenetically.

       “What the hell are you–?!”

       “Didn’t you come here to dance?” Fuma maneuvers from side-to-side, preventing the other man from taking one step closer to where he means to go. “Let’s dance!”

       The man finally gives up and hightails it at the next opportunity he gets, muttering something about insane assholes and how nothing is worth the trouble.

       Fuma is so effective at thwarting interested parties left and right that Kento later whines about nobody approaching him, and how everyone he attempted to approach steered clear of him like the plague. He blames his downtrodden luck on his companions, claiming that this never happens when he goes out with non-Johnny’s friends.

       “Oh, you’re right, it’s got to be someone’s fault,” Yasui says, eyeing Fuma with a knowing smirk. At least four others burst out in conspiratorial laughter. Fuma wears his most innocent expression as Kento scowls in confusion, unsure if he’s being made the butt of an inside joke.

       Getting called out doesn’t stop Fuma from sticking to his noble mission of warding off potential propositions on Kento’s behalf. He can alleviate his guilt with a reminder that he’s shielding Kento from the lecherous miscreants who would never pass muster if he were more sober and/or generally more selective. When Kento’s receptivity dwindles late into the night, Fuma is satisfied with his work and goes off to join the people lined up at the bar where Yasui is ordering shots for them.

       Amidst raucous cheers, Fuma throws back two shot glasses to make up for lost time. He downs shot after shot, keeping up with the best of them. After each turn, he slowly loses his higher mental facilities. Eventually, he loses sight of Kento, and then loses his sight altogether, passing out on Shintaro’s lap.

 

 

*

 

 

       The next day, Fuma’s regrettable decision to drink well past his capacity catches up to him.

       Punishing hangover aside, he learns that Kento had gone on to succumb to his questionable compulsions with Fuma no longer standing in his way. Fuma is less than enthused to hear that Kento left the club with an unknown companion who ended up spending the night with him. The anonymous bedfellow even stayed long enough to share breakfast with Kento, as they reportedly commiserated on morning-after headaches.

       Although Kento gives up all of this information, one final, important part is missing – he can’t seem to come up with a name to connect with his one night stand.

       Fuma hunts around for this detail, asking other friends who had been present that night, but he comes up empty after his initial investigation. A running theme of “it was no one, Fuma, you should probably drop it” casts suspicions on their testimonies.

       He then tries his luck with Shori and Sou when he meets up with them for their radio show, on the off-chance that Kento confided in them. But his luck remains thin, as they similarly keep mum about it. To Shori and Sou’s credit, they seem to be legitimately in the dark, unlike the Yasui and Juri crew.

       “Why do you think he’d tell one of us?” Shori asks him bluntly. Sometimes, Fuma misses that meek little boy who unfailingly minded his manners when addressing the seniors in his group.

       Sou’s a little better, but not by much. “You are the one who told Marius that he’ll never know Kento-kun as well as you do,” he points out.

       Fuma shakes his head. “Doesn’t sound like me. Whoever said it is right, but that didn’t come from me.”

       Sou laughs. “But that’s good for Kento-kun, if he found someone.”

       Shori watches Fuma warily. He may not be in the know on all things on the Kento-and-Fuma front, but he’s the one that frequently gets stuck in between them. In that position, he can’t help but make observations that he never cared to make. “Is he doing alright now?” he asks Fuma. “Sou and Marius and I were talking about it. Kento-kun’s been looking a bit off the last few days. Or maybe not off, exactly, but listless?”

       Fuma shrugs. “Why don’t you ask him yourself instead of nattering to each other?”

       “You know Kento-kun. We always get the same answer.”

       “Up to now, you’re still the only one who has insider privilege.” The mischief in Sou’s voice is unmissable, but he’s Fuma’s favorite, and it’s hard for him to get on anyone’s nerves. “I had no idea he goes out with you and Yasui-kun. I thought you two don’t do that.”

       “He doesn’t come along, normally. That night was a one-off,” Fuma says.

       He means what he says, in that he has no plans of repeating that night in the near future. He has no problem dealing with Kento at work or spending time with him when it’s just the two of them. But there’s little fun to be had when Fuma feels the need to exert all that effort covertly keeping an eye on the other man, whether if it’s to gauge his involvement in group interactions, or if it’s to protect his dubious virtue.

       The truth is, to some extent, Fuma has always been vigilant about other people encroaching on his position in Kento’s hierarchy of relationships, and much of it is admittedly self-serving concern.

       That thought stays with Fuma throughout the day, and haunts him when he tries to focus on a magazine questionnaire that he’s filling out. The theme of his contemplation makes one of the questions a lot harsher than it’s meant to be.

       “ _Who’s the most generous member in Sexy Zone?”_ the questionnaire asks, in bold, accusatory font. _“Conversely, who’s the most selfish?”_

       He already answered the first part. The only acceptable answer is to pick himself, of course, citing an anecdote involving Shori and a video game of unknown ownership to justify his selection. That first question is a cinch.

       He knows the answer to the second question, too, actually. But the reason behind it is hardly suitable for public consumption.

 

 

*

 

 

       Days go by without unearthing any additional clues regarding that night, frustrating Fuma to no end. Without anyone to specifically focus his vexations on, Fuma chooses to hound Shige at the next Shounen Club taping.

       Fuma doesn’t bother trying to extract details from Shige – even if Kento told him, Shige wouldn’t pass along that information. So he does the next best thing, which is to drag him to the nearest empty room to rebuke him.

       “I was wondering. Have you learned your lesson yet, and will you finally stop pimping him out to your friends from now on?”

       “This was one time!” Shige cries in a volume counterproductive to locking themselves in a room for privacy. “Besides, Ryo’s your friend, too. Though, in hindsight, that may have been the problem. How was I supposed to know that your deviant past would scare him off that badly…”

       Shige means it as a joke, but Fuma bristles all the same. “One, that guy is not my friend. I hadn’t talked to him in years ‘til you fished him out of nowhere. Two, if you couldn’t figure that out before setting them up, then take that as a hint about your qualifications as a matchmaker. And three, speaking of ‘one time,’ that hasn’t been true in years. Unless you’ve finally come to terms with the fact that your bandmate is too young for Nakajima and, oh yeah, has never expressed any interest in men.”

       Shige purses his lips.

       “That answers that,” Fuma mutters. “You’ve never stayed quiet for _that_ long.”

       “Hey!”

       “Maybe someday you’ll accept that Kotaki is straight—” (Fuma has to speak louder to be heard over Shige insisting “closeted!”) “—and the same age as Shori. Two things that are non-starters on their own, let alone when you put them together.”

       “Okay, but Kento has to get over the Shori thing. ‘They’re the same age as Shori, who used to be thirteen’ – that’s just ridiculous. Even you have to agree with me on that,” Shige negotiates.

       For obvious reasons, Fuma has no objections against Kento narrowing his pool of prospects of his own free will. “At any rate, that’s not up to me.”

       “I just want Kento to be in a real relationship once and for all,” Shige says, defensiveness evaporating and leaving him only with his good-hearted intentions. “I want that for both of them, really.”

       Fuma checks himself before he gives into the petty urge to argue about who’s been looking out for Kento’s interests for longer. “If you’re that concerned about Nakajima’s dating life, I suggest telling him not to screw around so much anymore.”

       “Interesting solution,” Shige says blandly. “You say he’s single because I encourage him to date, when Ryo broke things off with him because _you_ used to screw around with him. You know that’s the reason, right?”

       “I don’t see how that’s relevant when I don’t care whether he gets a boyfriend or not.”

       “I see, that’s why you’re in here badgering me to stop helping him get one.”

       Shige’s direct attack gets Fuma more confrontational than he prefers to be. “You’re ‘helping?’ Gotta love that legendary Kansai humor.”

       “I’m doing what I can.” Shige’s next words can still be interpreted as inflammatory, but he chirps them out, looking to avoid any further escalation. “Even though we might cancel each other out, since you’re apparently out there putting in hard work to keep him from meeting new people.”

       Well. Fuma has better things to do than defend himself from such allegations. For one thing, he has to prove that his friends are withholding crucial information from him. And now, he also has to sniff out the traitor that spread his newfound pastime around.

 

 

*

 

 

       “You guys had the time to tell Shige about the other night, but you couldn’t tell me what happened after I got black-out drunk.”

       Juri stares at Fuma for a beat, seemingly deciphering his words. “No one said anything to him about it,” he says after some time. “Also, you know everything there is to know. Didn’t we mail each other about this already?”

       “Forgive me if I’m not convinced after three of you said the same thing, word-for-word.”

       “Did we?” Juri chuckles. “You were right, we’ve been hanging out with each other too much.”

       “Can I know why I’m not allowed to know?”

       Juri shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs. “You’re being paranoid.”

       “Did Nakajima tell you to keep it under wraps?”

       “No. Would you relax?” Juri sighs. “You know, not to change the subject or anything, but he didn’t even know what you were up to that night. And, if you ask me, it wasn’t very fair. Nobody could come within a five-foot radius of him. It was so bad that Moro could see what was going on. _Moro._ ”

       “It’s for his own good,” Fuma says.

       Juri tilts his head appraisingly. “It kinda didn’t seem that way.”

       Fuma rolls his eyes. “I suppose I should hook him up with straight guys, or guys whose minds are blown by the idea that everyone’s idol prince has had casual sex.”

       “Hey, I’m with you there. I don’t think Shige’s any better,” Juri assures him. “But aren’t you taking it too far, also, just a bit? I mean, should either of you get a say in his love life?”

       “Of course I get a say,” Fuma replies. “I’m the one he spends the most time with, and it’s me – not Shige, or Shori, or Marius – it’s me who gets the brunt of his overblown angst when another attempt at romance crashes and burns.”

       “Right, but isn’t it also bothersome when he’s lonely?” Juri says. “You complain about him going overboard on work and shit when there’s nothing to distract him from it.”

       Fuma considers this. “Yeah, but it’s a hell of a risk for barely any return.”

       Juri relaxes a little when he sees Fuma begin to resemble his more levelheaded self. “It can’t be good to keep it all bottled up.”

       “He needs a release, I’ll agree with that.”

       Juri laughs at the double-entendre. “Yeah, you can tell from that sound he makes when he—”

       Fuma watches, impassively at first, as Juri’s eyes widen incrementally after he cuts himself off. Juri’s pupils begin to ricochet in multiple directions, reminiscent of a prey under threat, searching frantically for an exit.

       “Nooooo,” Fuma is saying before his brain can even translate an unbidden, farfetched thought into a coherent sentence.

       “No. No, no, no,” Juri echoes him. He springs up to his feet and skips away, putting distance between them while holding both hands up. “Wait. No, no, no, no, no! Don’t get up—”

       Against Juri’s wishes, Fuma gets to his feet, moving very slowly as he fights to keep his emotions in check.

       “No, I- I’m sorry! I’msorryI’msorryI’msorry!” Juri chants.

       Fuma takes a few cautious steps towards him, but Juri keeps scampering away. “You can stop that now. I’m not a bull, and you’re not a matador.”

       His reassurances don’t reach Juri. “Wait, just hold on for a second! Listen, I didn’t want to.”

       “Are you saying Nakajima Kento forced himself on you.”

       Juri cringes. “No, I – look, I’m really sorry.” He drags a folding chair in front of him as some sort of shield. “He was so defeated. Like, utterly depressed, he kept using words like ‘undesirable’ and ‘tragic.’ I couldn’t exactly tell him, ‘that’s not it, it’s that thing you and Fuma do sometimes, where you two can’t leave each other alone.’”

       “And what you did, that was the best course of action to take?!” Fuma feels his tenuous grip on calm unraveling.

       “I- At the time—” Juri stammers.

       “The answer is no, of fucking course it wasn’t! I can’t believe someone has to tell you how gross it is to take advantage of that situation—”

       “No, I swear it wasn’t—!”

       “—and to go behind your friend’s back like that!”

       Juri inhales sharply, taking in a Fuma he’s never seen before, outside of skits or dramas. “I am sorry about that,” he says softly. “I get that it’s… delicate, between you two. The last thing I want to do is make things worse.”

       “Tell you what. After what you did, things between me and Nakajima are the least of your worries.”

       Fuma briskly walks past Juri before the latter can get another word in, and shuts the door behind him with pointed finality.

 

 

*

 

 

       Fuma has never fought with Juri before. For all his outward gruffness, he is often the first to make light of a situation when it gets too heated. He’s only ever seriously clashed with Kento, so he’s at a loss on what to do after he sleeps off his knee-jerk reactions, after the rush of rage and betrayal simmer to a low boil.

       He isn’t quite ready to forgive Juri yet, but he hopes they can follow the FumaKen paradigm of ripping each other to shreds one minute and coming back together within hours of it, having it dissipate without so much as a verbal reference to their altercation.

       As if summoned, Kento walks in on Fuma, mid-brooding. After his greeting goes unacknowledged, Kento sighs, “You should go talk to him.”

       That earns him a reply. “Juri?”

       “Yes, Juri.”

       “ _Juri_?!” Fuma all but roars.

       “…Oh. You’re mad about that.”

       “You let Juri take you home,” Fuma hisses. He may as well have accused Kento of corralling all the puppies, kittens, and bunnies in the world, stuffing them in a building, and burning them alive in one fell swoop.

       “Go lecture him then, he said we shouldn’t tell you!” Kento says defensively. “Nope, scratch that. It won’t help to drag this out any longer. Come on, just look at yourself. You’re miserable without him.”

       “I’ll live.”

       Kento gives him a doubtful once-over. “Really, tell me how this is any better than sucking it up and apologizing.”

       “Hah! Sure, I’ll just go ahead and bow my head to the person who calls himself my friend, then went ahead and climbed into bed with you.”

       Kento’s face flushes in a curious mix of delight and indignation. “What?!”

       “What don’t you get?” Fuma demands. “You and I, we’ve slept together. A lot more than once.”

       “Yes, thanks for the reminder, I was there each time.”

       “I’d’ve heard you from two buildings down even if you weren’t,” Fuma mutters, succeeding in worsening Kento’s blush. “The point is, it changes things, as far as friend etiquette. I’m not inventing new rules here. And for that matter, when you get with someone, don’t go screwing all his friends like you’re trying to complete a punch card.”

       “Shut up, I didn’t do that!” Kento tucks his hair behind his ear, an oddly self-conscious signal that he’s working on believing his own words. “What you’re saying isn’t even practical for either of us. Half the people we know are mutual friends.”

       “Then go fuck the other half, or get new friends.”

       “Fine!” Kento says, coming close to a sulk. “It’s not as if I was planning to tell you about it in the first place.”

       “That makes it so much better.”

       “Well, it should,” Kento says, frowning at his sarcasm. “I get it. I wouldn’t want to know if you sleep with Shige, or one of my school friends. But I can’t tell you not to do it.”

       “Do you actually understand? Do you really get what it was like for me, when you started going out with that guy –”

       “It’s Ryo, and maybe it’s time you relearned how to refer to him by name.”

       Fuma continues as if Kento hadn’t interrupted him. “Did you get that I couldn’t stand to be around when he showed up? You might’ve missed that when you were busy growing heart-eyes for him. When he talked to me, I had to look at something else. Did you get that? I couldn’t face him, otherwise I might think about how you’d take him home one day.”

       “‘One day.’” For some reason, that’s the part Kento latches onto. “Why would you think we haven’t—”

       Fuma cuts him off. “I don’t need to know any of that, remember?”

       “Hang on, I thought we were talking about friend etiquette,” Kento says. “You’re the one who keeps saying you and Ryo aren’t friends.”

       “It doesn’t matter. I said, I really don’t need to know.”

       Kento’s expression melts into one of astonishment, maybe even swooning. He’s regularly transparent to Fuma, but everyone from Jinguji to Matchy-san would be able to tell what he’s thinking just by looking at his face in this moment.

       “Don’t,” Fuma warns. “Don’t think it. It isn’t love, it’s selfishness.”

       “You do love me.” Kento is confident of that.

       For his part, Fuma doesn’t deny it. “That’s unrelated – that kind is a different matter altogether.”

       “’That kind?’ Seriously? And you say I think too much.”

       “I have to be the objective one here. That’s how we work, ‘cause one of us is the type that gets carried away easily.” Fuma doesn’t say it to be cruel, and Kento knows that. “I wish I could make it so it’s black and white, believe me, but I don’t understand what’s going on in my head well enough for that.”

       It’s never been easy for him to simply admit to his shortcomings, and Kento accepts this without further questioning, with a deep understanding of what such an admission takes.

       “What do we do, then?” Kento is used to receiving a fast, occasionally smart aleck response after posing such a question to Fuma, and when none comes, he ventures a tentative solution. “For starters, I could be more careful. Maybe we need to get better at keeping each other in the dark about seeing other people, until… until we don’t have to anymore, for whatever reason.”

       “There’s no need for us to keep tabs on each other.” Fuma’s willing to do what it takes to arrive at relative normalcy, even if it means giving up his post as Professional Cockblocker.

       “That’s true.” Kento sounds slightly unsure of his own idea. “And if we tell the others to respect that, I’m sure they’ll go along with it, too.”

       “No one gave Juri up, that’s for sure,” Fuma says, lingering bitterness getting the best of him.

       In an instant, Kento switches to the parental settings he normally reserves for the other three members. “Promise me you’ll talk to him. Please? It kills me to see you like this, to think I had something to do with it.”

       With a perfectly straight face, Fuma replies, “I’m not just going to do what Kurosaki-kun says.”

       Kento snorts out a goofy laugh, the exact opposite of sexy, but it still has Fuma repeating his own words to himself like a mantra, out of necessity. _Don’t think it. It isn’t love, it’s selfishness._

 

 

*

 

 

       Fuma and Juri make up in the span of eleven days, as the former’s desire to hold a grudge dwindles in the face of his longing for Juri’s company. The hold-up is mostly from Fuma swallowing his pride in small, digestible chunks before he’s able to face Juri. It’s accelerated by him using others as a conduit for increasingly longer messages, until Hokuto gets fed up and bodily drags him to where Juri is, suggesting that Fuma deliver his messages directly.

       However it may have happened, Fuma patched it up with Juri, and all’s well that ends well. On that front. The problem now becomes the Kento situation, which somehow only got worse.

       Kento followed through on his vow to shroud details of his romantic endeavors. The agreement spares them from unsavory knowledge of each other’s activities, but Fuma’s ultimate goal of keeping complicated feelings at bay is not met.

       Without physical evidence of what Kento is up to, Fuma’s imagination goes to extreme lengths to fill in the blanks with unprecedented sadism. Without much conscious effort on his part, he pictures Kento shacking up with whomever he talks to, or sits next to, or fleetingly looks at.

       It’s maddening. On the other hand, the thought of reverting back to indiscretion repulses him. The only course of action he has left is to bombard his consciousness with other things.

       He opts to act on the pent-up frustration that built from speculating on worst-case scenarios that were often quite obscene. He snags a date with a cute guy, and it’s fun, for all of ten minutes. During the date, he repeatedly finds that his brain doesn’t need any reminders to conjure visions of Kento in all sorts of entanglements with all sorts of people who weren’t him.

       Following that, Fuma scraps the idea of dating altogether. The experience doesn’t distract him sufficiently, nor does it tell him anything new.

       He already knows that the concept of other people is exciting, with the promise of brand new worlds to discover and the frenzy of passion accompanying it. He is also aware that the concept of other people means missing out on the exact shape of Kento’s eyes, the exact shape of his smile. It means giving up the right to say that he’s the only person who can tell the difference between the genuine one from the idol one. And it means surrendering the way he feels when they’re together, ceding it to someone else down the line.

       To most people, this might sound like a convincing argument to pursue a real relationship. But putting all of that together, it just sounds like he’s solely looking out for his own interests. The prospect of diving in, possibly without the depth of feeling that their history deserves, is unacceptable.

       Fuma takes pride in his ability to detect a clear-cut choice, recognizing the good from the bad in totality, like a human ledger. That this ability is failing him now, when he needs it most, propels him to commit one of the darkest deeds one can commit in these contemporary times. He takes out his cell phone and goes straight into his messages, inhibitions cast aside.

       _Tell me you’re sleeping alone tonight_ , he types out without thinking, as if possessed. He refuses to reread it, sending it off as soon as he’s done typing.

       He clutches his phone tightly, nervously awaiting an answer. A notification dings a few seconds later, and he holds his breath as he unlocks his phone.

       _Nope_ _♥_

       Fuma curses the sudden walloping ache in his chest, but has little time to do it as a second message follows the first one closely.

        _Are you home?_ _Can I come over?_

       Inhaling deeply, he responds with a brusque _Fine,_ which is all he can manage right after the whiplash of emotions he’d been put through.

       As he waits for Kento to arrive, Fuma frets belatedly about the other man’s follow-up message. What if Kento hadn’t meant it as a flirtatious line, but as a serious query so he can sit Fuma down and gently break the news of a new boyfriend/girlfriend? His thoughts evolve with outlandish progression, darkening his mood. Later, he’s scowling at Kento when he lets the older one in. Kento is wearing glasses instead of his contact lenses, likely having come straight from his house.

       Kento scrutinizes the glare that’s fixed on him. “Did something happen?”

       “You tell me.”

       Kento levels with him. “I don’t have anywhere else to be tonight. You?”

       Fuma hasn’t entirely forgiven him for giving him a heart attack so he withholds that detail. When he’s ready to talk, his tone comes out surprisingly light. “Do you know the position you fall asleep in?” he says. “The one you get after shifting the slightest bit, until it’s that much more comfortable and you can relax into your sheets.”

       Kento nods minutely, waiting for him to continue.

       “If you move just a little more, you disrupt everything, and you can’t fall asleep again.” Fuma looks him in the eye. “Have you ever had that?”

       “Yeah.”

       A heavy silence falls on them as they let Fuma’s words sink in.

       “I can’t figure this out,” Fuma eventually says.

       “What if I can help?” Kento asks.

       “You’re the confounding variable here.”

       “Okay, calm down, Keio boy. Let’s just go through a simple checklist. Okay?” Kento interprets Fuma’s silence as authorization. “First, you’re attracted to me.” He waits expectantly. Then, “Yes or no?”

       “I thought you were just stating facts. Yes.”

       “Thank you. Next, you don’t like thinking of me with other people.”

       “Yes. No? Phrase it better!” Fuma chides. “No, we’ve established that I don’t like it when you’re with other people.”

       “Okay. Now, outside of being work partners and friends – with or without benefits.” He pauses, and a hint of insecurity seeps through the matter-of-fact tone. “You like me.”

       “Yes,” Fuma confirms without hesitation.

       Encouraged, Kento says, “You love me, one way or another.”

       “Yes.” Again, there’s no hesitation there, but it’s softer, like if he says it too loudly, someone else will hear.

       Kento smiles, tiny but gratified. “Well, you’ve said it twice now. I can work with that.”

       Fuma rolls his eyes. “You would give others the opportunity to hurt you so easily.”

       “You’ve already hurt me,” Kento says. Fuma looks like he’s been slapped in the face, so he adds, “It’s not your fault. It’s because I love you, too. That’s the only reason. I love you in the way I learned to back when I was 15, and all the years after that.”

       An appropriate response is slow to come to Fuma, and Kento doesn’t give a chance for it to form in his head before he drops a bombshell on him.

       “At some point, I learned to do it in that ‘unrelated’ kind you were talking about.”

       If being told that he’d hurt Kento felt like a slap, being told that Kento is in love with him feels like a sucker-punch. He instinctively defends himself. “You never said anything.”

       “I was sure you wouldn’t want me to.” Kento laughs self-effacingly. “It’s funny, I was always terrified of being so obvious. I thought that if you knew, it would push you away, or make you think I’d demand more from you. And I swear I never meant to deceive you or keep such a thing from you while we were hooking up. I thought I’d get over it.”

       Fuma’s head is bowed as he takes Kento’s words in.

       “But if I could tell you without putting any pressure on you… The more I think about it, the more I think I’d regret keeping it to myself,” Kento continues. “The truth is, anything I get from you is enough to make me the luckiest person in the world.”

       “Don’t you dare pull that prince bullshit with me right now.”

       “Sorry, please bear with my feelings for a bit longer.” Kento pushes Fuma’s shoulders back, crowding him until his back hits the wall. Before he can so much as get out a token protest, Kento seals his mouth over his.

       Fuma’s jaw slackens the moment their lips make contact, coaxing Kento to follow suit. He snatches the glasses that start to dig into his skin, folding them and slipping them into Kento’s pocket – or he thinks he does, he isn’t pulling away to check. He places one hand on the wall behind him to steady himself, and the other travels around Kento to grab at his shirt, wrinkling the material low on his back. He pulls him in, encouraging Kento and eliminating every inch of space where they aren’t touching.

       Kento soon peels himself away from Fuma, drawing an irritated sound from him, but he returns to press butterfly kisses along the line from Fuma’s chin to his jaw, from his neck to his collarbone. “You don’t have to want the same thing I do, and you don’t need to figure it out right this moment,” he says, voice coming out low, breath hot on Fuma’s skin. “Take your time. Just respect me enough to know I’ll pull through, no matter what you decide.”

       “I know,” Fuma says, fighting to keep his wits about him as Kento peppers his face with tender brushes of kiss-swollen lips. “You’re –” he exhales and tries again, this time grabbing both of Kento’s hands in his and squeezing tightly to catch his attention. Kento stills momentarily, face buried between Fuma’s jaw and collarbone. “I want to figure this out. I will.”

       Then he sighs, already wanting to kick himself for his inopportune pragmatism. He gently extricates Kento’s face away from his neck, chucking his chin up so their eyes could meet. “But this, what you’re starting right now, it isn’t a good idea. Odds are it won’t help. We can’t do this kind of thing until we know what it is we want.”

       “But _I_ know what I want. I want you.” His tone approaches Marius-level moping, but Fuma can’t even remember to argue that it’s supposed to be about their mutual conviction rather than just Kento’s. It’s impossible when Kento’s looking at him the way he is, head angled so he’s peering up through his lashes.

       Kento uses some version of this look on their fans, and when he does, Fuma and the others can’t look at him directly because it’s so shameless and, quite frankly, smarmy. But the searing promise telegraphed in it is unsettling for a completely different reason when it’s used on Fuma. The look is compelling on its own, and paired with Kento’s proximity, it’s basically coercion.

       Pinned to the wall by something greater than just an enticing body pressed against his, Fuma thinks it’s fine to be selfish sometimes, isn’t it? After all, Kento can be downright spoiled.

 

 

*

 

 

       Shige always thought he’d have mixed feelings should this day come. He had prepared for it mentally, in the abstract. But for all his concerns about mutual possessiveness and co-dependence, there’s only thrill and maybe a dash of relief when he receives a message that has more emoji’s than words.

       Kotaki catches him basking in his unexpected happiness and asks, “Why are you grinning at your phone like that?”

       “Aahhh, Non-chan, I told you to go for it while he was still single!”


End file.
